Liam’s word doesn’t mean shit anymore.
I’m not signed. I’m not protected. I’m a risk no one needs.
The story writes itself: idiot kid, ego too big, judgment too small. Targeted the quiet girl for a laugh. Thought he was untouchable.
I picture the locker room going quiet.
The looks changing.
The door closing.
And Wren finding out like that. Public. Humiliating. Reduced to a cautionary tale she never agreed to be part of.
My stomach turns.
I don’t have a clean way out of this. I don’t have leverage. I don’t have a version of the truth that doesn’t cost me something I can’t afford to lose.
The phone vibrates again.
MIT Admissions— Your Decision Is Available in the Portal
I stare at the screen.
Don’t open it.
Don’t touch it.
Whatever’s in there feels…distant. Hypothetical. Like a life that belongs to someone else.
Right now, everything real is upstairs.
Everything I stand to lose is right here.
I delete the message draft. Lock the screen. Let the room go dark.
Tomorrow, I tell myself.
Not because I know how.
Not because I’m ready.
Just because I can’t face it tonight.
19
LIP BALM AND LIFE LESSONS (WREN)
Iwake to winter light slicing across unfamiliar windows and the steady awareness that my life has tilted. Last night returns in ordered flashes: the couch, his hand threading through my hair, the press of his mouth on mine.
My first kiss.
Heat climbs my throat. I touch my lips. They feel tender, as if they kept a memory when sleep tried to steal it.
My phone reads 8:47. Laughter drifts up from the kitchen, accompanied by the clatter of plates and the low hiss of a pan. The house sounds ordinary.
I pull a sweatshirt over my tank, re-tie the drawstring on my joggers, and give up on the tangle of hair in the mirror.
Coffee and bacon greet me at the bottom step. Eden stands at the stove, stirring a pan; Erin is setting plates. Kieran leans against the counter in sweats and a fitted long-sleeve shirt that looks devastating on him, mug balanced in one hand. My skin blooms with heat and my breath sticks in my throat.
